To Hell and Back
by FireAndRoses
Summary: My take on the Teen Titans mini-series Fresh Hell (the ends of issues #72-82). After Rose up and leaves the Titans, she journeys onwards towards her next chapter while being plagued by ghosts of her past. Way more interesting than it sounds, I suck at summaries. Mainly starring Ravager, but with Rojay pairing.
1. Direction

**Author's note: Heyo, readers! So this is my take on the pre-New 52 Teen Titans mini series _Fresh Hell_ starring Ravager. And since Rojay life, including Jason is an added bonus. I basically follow the main plot points of the story and take direct quotes when I see fit, but I stick to my own style, changing and adding things in here and there and whatnot.**

**Disclaimer: DC owns everything but my majestic creativity. **

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><p>Shards of glass, glittering like diamonds, holding the reflection of the winter moon, decorated the drug store floor. The craggy edges of what was left of the full-length window were sure to give her away if they didn't notice the raided snack aisle first. A teen girl, her loose platinum hair glowing like silver in the moonlight, slowly held up an inhaler to her mouth. She breathed in deeply and the intoxication rolled through her blood.<p>

Sometimes all you needed to keep going was direction.

The young woman shook her head to clear it and abruptly turned to the shelves, stacked with tiny containers of epinephrine. Her arm swiped towards her, sweeping the bottles into her open backpack, most of them getting in but many of them clattering to the floor in her haste.

"Quite a mess you've made here, Rose." The girl fumbled with the zipper of her bag and whirled around to face...Cassie.

"I see you've gone and reduced yourself to a sad little thief, debasing yourself for your next high."

"Judging me, Wonder Girl?" the platinum-haired teen responded with a grunt. "How original."

"Come on now." The figure of the Titan leader stepped through the shattered glass of the window and crossed her arms. "Just because you oh-so-unceremoniously left the Teen Titans doesn't mean we don't care what happens to you."

Rose snorted and hefted her full-to-bursting backpack onto her shoulders. "Wow. Even when you try to say something vaguely nice to me it comes out as condescending. I _left_ 'cause of this-'cause of your runaway train of moral superiority. You know that right?"

"Of course," the Amazonian replied. She stepped closer to Rose until she was practically an inch away, walking closer and closer until her body took on a transparent hue, and the thieving teen heard the words from behind her, slowly fading. "...Just like I know I'm a drug-induced hallucination..."

For the second time that night, Rose shook her head to constrain her rattled thoughts. "Perfect," she muttered to herself as she strode towards her broken entrance and stepped outside into the moonlit parking lot. "Only a head as universally fucked up as mine would choose _her_ as the personification of my conscience."

Just as the leather-clad teen wrapped one leg over the seat of her idling motorbike, a siren pierced the silent night and flashes indicated that the fuzz were on their way. No time to lose. She revved off, zooming through the quiet town, zipping onto the mountainside highway. She knew she could stay ahead of them if she didn't slip up.

This now begged the question: Where was she going, and what was she gonna do when she got there? It was strange not being able to sense these things.

Hallucinations. Hah. That was a new one.

Made her wonder what fresh hell was next...

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><p>"D-daddy..."<p>

The young girl trembled pathetically on the living room sofa, one hand clasped in her lap, the other clutched over her left eye.

"Daddy, what did I do?"

Her longish snowy hair rested limply over the shoulders of her Ravager guise. A knife protruded from the adjacent white-washed wall from where the barely adolescent girl had thrown it in a fit of adrenaline-filled rage. It dribbled crimson onto the sandy carpet. More crimson seeped from underneath the girl's left hand, making her quivering lips taste metallic.

"You stabbed yourself, Rose." The brooding tactician's speech was calm and deathly as a gorge. He walked away from her, towards the dimly lit kitchen.

"I what...? Why?" Her mind was foggy, opaque. Desperately trying to gasp onto a coherent thought. Deep, protruding pain was all she could register.

Deathstroke paused in his raid of the kitchen cabinet and turned to his bloodied daughter. His own single eye roamed over her distraught face. His visage was utterly stoic when he replied, "Because you said you wanted to be like me."

"What? No way, I _couldn't've_!" Her tone was insistent and desperate, taking gasping breaths of fury and denial. "You're lying, manipulating me again. I would never say that!" the daughter of the mercenary shrieked, shaking her head vigorously.

Meanwhile, Slade prepped a needle filled with clear liquid, his scarred, rough hands handling the delicate instrument with ease. The ease and comfort of much practice.

"I'll never be you! I hate you!" The girl backed up into the wall, still covering her eye with a scraped hand as her father approached her. She knew what was to come. The dauntless young Ravager was trembling in rage. And in fear.

"Serum's wearing off, Rose. Time for a refill." His voice wasn't soothing or comforting. It was bathed in cruel, harsh reality.

Deathstroke grabbed his daughter's upper arm with one tight fist, brandishing the syringe in the other. "Hold still," he growled. "Now just relax. It'll all be over soon." The needle wavered closer. And closer. It's tip aimed at her left eye.

"NO! NO!"

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><p>Chilling wetness consumed her. As the lid of her eye fluttered open, Rose Wilson found herself ungracefully scrambling around in a bank of snow. Gasping, she jackknifed to her feet and turned and turned, trying to comprehend her surroundings. But her weakened legs crumpled, and she fell back down into the snow on her knees, holding her throbbing head in her hands.<p>

"What the fuck...?"

Great. Now she could add sleepwalking to her list of deadly side-effects.

But hey, on the bright side, one thing good about having a chemically-enhanced physiology was that she didn't freeze her ass off when it was barely two degrees outside with a hell lot of windchill. And when she had to walk her motorcycle which was out of gas to the nearest civilized place she could find. Yup, always a plus.

Holding her arms to her chest, too damn stubborn to complain about the cold even when there was no one around to hear, Rose trudged over to her bike and gripped the handles. And started walking. And walking. Hell, she'd be lucky if she found civilization in the next few hours.

The one-eyed girl reached into her pack and brought out a container epinephrine. Oh, how she could use some.

She shook it. Glared at it. Nothing.

"Rose."

She whirled around to come face-to-handsome face with none other than the Red Hood himself. Immediately, a plethora of emotions welled up inside her chest like a balloon. Joy, relief, longing. Regret.

"Jason," Ravager breathed, gaping, reaching...only retracting swiftly as a quick afterthought. "I-"

"You left." His voice was terse and azure of his eyes that usually only sparked for her were now as cold as the snow they stood on. "When I heard you'd left the Titans,-thanks for letting me know about that by the way-I thought you were maybe coming to stay in Gotham. Not getting stranded in the middle of fucking Siberia."

"I need to..." She paused, not entirely sure how to finish that sentence. "...figure things out. Namely, my life."

"You _had _a life! With the Titans." Jason stepped closer and she thought she could smell the musk of his leather jacket, the familiar scent of the cologne he always wore because he knew it drove her crazy. "With me."

Her gut clenched wonderfully at his words, yet her subconscious knew that they were probably the offspring of her own conflicted thoughts. She hardened her heart.

"I can't, Jason." Rose let out a breath and turned away, gripping her bike and continuing her trek through the freezing tundra.

After a few steps, she glanced back to see that he'd vanished.

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><p><strong><strong>Sorry guys, I originally wrote this story conforming to a shorter chapter system. I'm trying to splice them together, but they're not exactly going to be super lengthy. <strong>**

**R&R! I can't stress that enough. I really want feedback. **

**Next chapter coming sooner than you think(;**


	2. Cause and Effect

**Author's note: ****Second chapter, yo. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Damn you, DC.**

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><p>Now in nightfall, the untouched snow along the sides of her makeshift trail sparkled under the moonlight instead of under the gray sun of the Alaskan day. Rose's skinny-jeaned legs were soaked from trudging in miles of snow and her thin but toned arms were weary and shaking from the negative temperature. Her exhausted gaze was fixed upon a small building a few fox-lengths away, which had been her dark and blurry north star about an hour ago.<p>

Finally. Not _nothing_. It had better be real and not another drug-induced mirage, she thought irritably.

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><p>The Eagle's Nest was a pub always occupied by Alaskan locals looking for a drink and escape from the cold. Some people slouched on the barstools while others sat in pods around rotting wood tables.<p>

"Hey, ever hear whatchya get when ya cross a skunk an' a rattlesnake?" A burly, bearded man asked his other redneck buddies as he slammed his mug of beer onto the table and wiped his liquor-filled facial hair with the back of his hand.

"Nah, what?" one of the guys at the table asked indifferently, taking a swig of his own drink.

And then a chilly wind buffeted through the place, followed by a few stray blobs of snow. The clump of moisture-laden combat boots on a wooded floor were enough to silence the interior of the pub as a leather-clad figure approached the bar.

"Beer and a shot, please," said the one-eyed girl with a grunt. "And something to eat. Anything."

The woman behind the bar didn't ask any questions, didn't check her age, just complied. The liquor slid down her throat in one gulp and Rose's grip on the shot glass tightened as the alcohol burned its way through her senses.

"'Scuse me, little missy," a gruff voice behind her sounded from behind her left shoulder. She tensed slightly. He'd come up on her blind side. "You best move on. This place don't abide t' no tourists."

Rose calmly sipped her beer, her face expressionless. "No, see, I've got no food, no ride, and no fucking idea where I am. That means I'm staying. And if you've got a problem with that, you can-"

Her pertinent threat was interrupted by a sharp hit to her collarbone. Rose withheld a small groan and clenched her jaw. Damn pregog still isn't kicking in, she thought bitterly. Otherwise this guy would've lost a hand.

"Now GET!" yelled the bearded redneck, his arm sweeping towards the door.

No one made Rose Wilson do _anything_ she didn't want to do. She smoothly slid off her barstool, a now-empty glass mug in her hand and eye blazing with hellfire.

Her leg snapped up to kick one man in the gut while an arm smacked her chilled glass beer mug against another's jaw. A mixture of splintered teeth and glass joined the spewing crimson on the filthy floor.

It felt good. Letting loose, no worries about the whole non-lethal rule the Titans always kept under their belts. It the spot more than any grub would have. It was as if it were awakening the parts of her that she'd strained to stay hidden behind next-to-harmless maneuvers for endless weeks. But there were times to worry about that kind of mindset, and now wasn't one of them.

With a growl, the Ravager's elbow slammed into a bloodied mouth, and her leg twisted behind her to deliver a hard roundhouse kick to another's chest with the satisfying crack of fractured ribs.

Like it or not, it was a part of her. The brutality. The lust of savagery. It was in her blood. It coursed through her veins alongside the epinephrine.

She was a part of a violent family with a violent history.

Unconscious bodies, not corpses, decorated the dusty wood floor and the platinum-haired, leather-bound girl stood in the middle of them.

"That it, or does some other stranger wanna try to make me do something I don't feel like?"

She turned to the gaping bartender. "Listen, all I'm asking for is a place to stay and-"

A low uneasiness made itself present in her gut, and Rose suddenly clutched her abdomen. "And..." Her stomach churned.

"UGHKKK!" The teen's head snapped back as bright ruby liquid spurted from her lips. A sudden urge to fall into unconsciousness made her collapse to her knees. At the corner of her eye, Rose saw a dark figure running towards her, but her fluttering lid was already becoming laden, like chain mail.

Her suddenly-heavy head hit the floor with a thud, her eye finally closed, and her mouth was covered in sticky red as a halo of gore circled her snowy hair.

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><p>A small figure crouched in pale spring grass, pulling at pieces of white hair in thought as she watched her father pace back and forth in front of her. Adjacent to them both, the trunk of a van stood open, letting in the warm breeze. Knives, guns, and other various weaponry could be seen lining the interior of the vehicle, a sight that grotesquely contrasted the beauty and serenity of the setting.<p>

"You're a special girl, Rose. Always have been." The sleeves of Slade Wilson's checkered shirt were pulled halfway up his bulging arms and the young girl watched him, her eyes wide, as his calloused hands fingered a needle.

"But this here..." the Terminator tapped the glass vial with his fingertip. "This will make you something greater. You'll have my strength. My speed. And more."

"I don't know...I don't know if it's something that I want," the girl replied uncertainly, lifting her shoulders in a shrug as her fingers twiddled with silvery strands. "Can I sleep on it, or-?"

"No, no, Rose, you misunderstood me." A bulky shadow loomed over her. "This isn't an offer."

The needle moved closer. And closer. Instead of clinching tight, her eyes widened in fear. "No!" she yelled. "Get that shit out of me!"

The Ravager grabbed the offending arm, realizing too late that the wrist was covered in a tough white material. Without thinking, she bent the arm back in a painful angle, and someone cried out. The needle flew out of the hand and clattered to the linoleum floor.

Rose hurriedly reached up to touch her left eye socket. Fingers brushed against tough fabric. Her vision cleared as soon as her thoughts did. And as soon as her thoughts did, the anti-hero sprung out of her hospital cot, scooped up the needle, and shoved it under the doctor's throat.

"What do you want from me?" she demanded. "What do you...uhnngg..." A throbbing pain shot through her skull as one hand removed the syringe from hers and another pushed her gently back down onto the white, chemical-smelling sheets.

"That's it. Lie back down. I was only drawing a blood sample." Rose watched through groggy eyes as he placed a bandage on her inner arm. "You're safe."

Then her enhanced brain clicked. The snow. The bar. Those rednecks. She'd blacked out...Blood. Lots of it.

No sign of any of that now. All she could differentiate between her double vision was that she was in a small cellar-like room with a bit of low-tech medical equipment and an eyeglassed man staring at her worriedly.

"Where am I?" Her ragged speech escaped her lips weaker than she wanted it to.

"You're in Angelsport. Northwest territories."

Rose's eye squeezed shut as another wave of nausea washed over her. "I...I was in a fight."

"Way I heard it, it's more like you knocked the living stink out of a bunch of tough-as-nails fellas," was the reply, a tone of awe in his voice. "But I guess it comes with the territory when you're some sorta superhero."

Her eye snapped open in surprise, but the doctor continued, "Found your uniform when I went through your things to find an ID or any idea of what's ailing you."

"Ailing?" inquired the anti-hero, sitting up in her cot despite her joint's protests and raising an eyebrow. For as long as she could remember, Rose had never gotten sick in her life. Even finding a hospital when she was injured had been unnecessary due to her quick-healing metahuman genes.

"To put it simply, young lady..." The white-coated man took a step back and adjusted his glasses. "If you don't lay off the epinephrine, you'll be dead."

Pulmonary edema. That's what the doctor said happened to her after the fight. Her heart had decided to stop pumping fluid out of her lungs. She'd been told this is a bad thing.

The washing machine next to her dinged brightly, so Rose pulled out the now-soft and unmarred black tank top and shoved it over her head. The fabric tickled her scarred torso as it slid down over her toned stomach to rest at her hips. She draped her silver locks down her back and her sore arms groaned like the unused mechanisms they were at the movement.

Movement behind her made her ears perk up, and she whirled swiftly, hand inching towards the knife in her belt. Her eye scanned the basement, but nothing showed itself. She frowned and shook it off, blaming her post-ER jumpiness.

Sliding her arms into leather sleeves and throwing her duffel over her back, Rose headed towards the staircase that was supposed to lead her out of the basement.

Migraines. Tremors. Blurred vision. Oxygen deprivation. Each step equalled a supposed symptom. Her feet felt like they were made of lead.

Eventually, they lead her towards a light brighter than the dim of the one that had hung above her cot. Rose found herself standing next to the bar back at the Eagles Nest.

"Feeling better?"

The voice resounded from a man with salt-and-pepper hair, a scruffy brush of a beard and a startlingly bloodred scarf. Maybe it was her fevered brain or lack of proper testosterone within her vicinity, but she found his rough-around-the-edges look to be a bit attractive.

"Why's there a back-door hospital in the basement of a bar?"

"I asked first, didn't I?"

He smirked slightly and she noticed his voice rung with a European accent, not at all what she would expect from a person sitting at a bar previously filled with rednecks. Stubborn as always, she countered with, "British?" as she strode past him, plopping her duffle onto a barstool.

"Welsh," was his quick reply. "Name's Will."

"Will," she repeated, walking behind the bar and pouring herself a vodka without asking. "I'm told I have you to thank for the kind doc down there."

"That you do..." He leaned forward towards her over the bar. "...Rose." She stiffened for a moment. "Or would you rather I call you Ravager?" Her grip on the shot glass tightened until her knuckles became as white as her arched eyebrows.

Will folded his arms neatly on top of the counter, his smirk still quite present. Well. That was one surefire way to lose a girl's interest and respect. "I'm curious, Rose. What brings you to _this_ little tip of the iceberg? Teen Titans business?"

Arrogant bastard. She took a swig of liquor, refusing to satisfy him with a response.

"Or maybe a little freelance for Daddy?"

The glass should have slammed down onto the countertop at that, or even better, into his snarky Eurotrash face. But instead, it landed lightly on the wooden surface as Rose fixed the man with a cool gaze, using an enormous amount of willpower to prevent herself from right-hooking that little smirk right off his face. "Don't act like you know me," she scoffed. "It grates on my nerves."

"Know what grates on _my_ nerves?" he replied with a curled lip. "When little girls come into my town stirring up all kinds of trouble."

"Your town?"

"That's right. I got a stake in every business here in Angelsport. Some I own outright, like the Eagle's Nest here." He stood, rapping his knuckles on the counter, claiming his ownership. "I'm also the one the townsfolk come to when justice needs tending to."

"Uh-huh. Well, as tempted as I am to stick around and watch you play King of the Iceberg, I never intended to be here to begin with, so..." She grabbed her duffel, made an about-face, and prepared to exit this dingy town once and for all.

"Rose...wait, hold on." A swish of red and blonde blocked her escape. She frowned. "Look, I was harsh. I'm sorry." She frowned some more. He uncomfortably scratched his neck. Entitled asshole. He _so_ did not deserve to look guilty right now. And Rose almost had to glance away as she absolutely refused to think about how his pouting expression made him look like a lost puppy.

"Hey, I know this landscape isn't exactly motorbike optimal. You learned that the hard way. I've got a shipment headed towards Vancouver tomorrow and a cabin already heated up for you." Will spread his hands. "I know we're not exactly becoming fast friends, but there's being a prat and then there's letting someone freeze to death, right?" A small sigh escaped her lips. Unfortunately, he was right. Even with her enhanced adaptive abilities, Rose knew she wouldn't last for much longer on her own in this particular climate.

"Throw in a working hot tub and you've got a deal."


	3. Ambush

**Author's Note: I'm still working out a few kinks in my modified storyline, so the next chapter might not be out for a bit. Trying to write as much as I can over break before school starts again... *sob***

**I hope you all had a very merry Christmas(:**

**Disclaimer: DC owns the characters and the mini-series this is based on.**

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><p>A cold wind chilled the almost-dusk, the sky turning from dark to darker as the Alaskan sun began to set. Angelsport was almost like a set from a Western movie: A single abandoned street of rundown wooden structures for buildings, with peeling signs for small businesses with almost no customers. A warm bubble of a laugh almost escaped Rose's frozen lips despite her thin, leather-clad arms clinging to her torso for some semblance of warmth. This was Will's "empire"?<p>

"The cabin's just a few clicks north."

She swiveled her head towards her heavily-coated escort, who happened to be the doctor who'd fixed her up. Rose nodded, clutching the strap of her duffle tighter, trying and failing not to think about the frigid weather and her inadequate attire. Her growing theory was that the longer she hung around this pathetic town, the bigger her chances were of being frozen solid in this place. Stuck in what passed for Alaska's version of purgatory.

As the anti-hero trudged through the thickening snow behind the doctor towards the truck down the street, she realized that Will had been right. Rose might have been her father's daughter in more ways then she'd have liked to admit, but there was no way she could survive another trip like that through the Arctic tundra. No fucking way.

Her obscure frozen thoughts gave way to sudden surprise as Rose realized that she'd almost tripped over a small bundled-up figure. Her reflexes took over and she backed away quickly, grabbing the arm of what appeared to be a small girl so the youngling wouldn't fall into the slush.

"Sorry about that," Rose amended quickly, feeling an unexpected slash of pity overcome her as she looked over the tiny, shivering figure. "Are you alright?"The girl stood, open-mouthed, eyes wide and seemingly frightened. The Ravager's gaze turned softer. "So, do you talk, or..."

"What d'ya think you're doin'?"

Another hand, large, rough, and scarred grabbed the girl's shoulder, tugging her away from Rose's grasp. The snowy-haired teen immediately recognized the newcomer as one of the men she'd personally delivered a beat-down to at the bar the previous night. The one who had almost broken her collarbone. A corner of her lips turned up a little when she noticed the bloody bandage that covered the majority of his forehead where she had smashed a beer mug into his skull.

"Oh, hi again," said Rose. She smirked slightly as her index finger pointed to his injured head. "Looks good on ya."

She was met with a nasty snarl as the bearded man's face loomed closer, his eyes boring into hers, filled with utter loathing.

Oh joy. Another adversary to add to her rapidly growing list.

"Archer..." Rose's calm escort shot the redneck with a meaningful glance, causing him to lean back with a growl.

"Jus' get 'er up to the cabin, doc. Get 'er outta here!"

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><p>"Get 'er outta here." Pfft. Amen to that, Rose thought bitterly as she scavenged through the duffel bag between her legs. The soft glow from the crackling fireplace illuminated her platinum hair and shone across the quilted coverlet of the log bed she sat perched on the edge of.<p>

As much as this little slice of nowhere sucked away at what was left of her soul...she had to admit that it was oddly _soothing_. It wasn't the peace and quiet, 'cause those two tended to bring her anything but. It wasn't the charmingly rustic ambiance.

As long as she remained here, her life was on hold. Isolated from the world, from Jason, liberated of Titan responsibilities, her father's wrath. And whatever the hell came with them.

Once she left...she had no idea where to go. What to do. Who to be.

Her hand emerged from the nylon clasped around a small tube. An empty vial of epinephrine. The only one that survived her frozen voyage. Rose placed it on the night-table beside her, not entirely sure why. She then reached up to remove her eyepatch, and it joined the bottle on the wooden surface next to her. Really, the best she could hope for was to sleep through the night peacefully.

The former Titan tucked herself under the warm quilt and rested her head on the borrowed pillow. The cold angelic look of her snowy white locks framing her face in a halo was marred abruptly by the reddish scar that ran along the left side of her face from her eyebrow to her high cheekbone. Crossing her ravaged eye in the process. As her breathing slowed and her thoughts drifted further and further away, she felt, for the first time in days, a sense of serenity.

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><p>Upon the crest of a snowy hill was where the little cabin lay, and inside those logged walls was where Rose Wilson slept peacefully for the first time in weeks. A sleep so serene that her unconscious mind was miles away from the small <em>thwip-thwip<em> of a chopper and the crunch of gunmen's boots against the snow. A sleep so deep that Rose's acute ears almost couldn't pick up the sound of a white-bearded man sporting a large bandage on his forehead speaking into his walkie-talkie mere fox-tails away from her door. Almost. "We're in position."

"Good." A familiar accented tone crackled through the other line.

"Kill her."

What sounded like a thousand clicks echoed through the silent night as countless men released the safeties on their guns and aimed carefully at the little shack on the snowy hill.

The bearded leader, a small, egg-shaped device in his hand, flicked away the pin and tossed it through one of the windows. The crash of glass followed it's movements and the sound of it dropping to the hard-wood floors of the cabin could be heard.

And then the shack imploded in a flash of bursting inferno and brimstone.

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><p>Before Rose Wilson had even met her father, she'd always wondered what he would be like. Wintergreen, Slade's butler and her unofficial caretaker for most of her "childhood", had always avoided the inquiry, usually with an uncomfortable hunch of shoulders or a "You should run along to your akibo practices now, Miss Rose." When he did speak of his master, it was only to refer to him as such and nothing more than the figurehead of the practically empty household. This wasn't what fazed the young girl, however. She could pretty well guess which parts of herself were from her mother. So she took the rest and tried to picture a man made up of those qualities.<p>

He was defiant. Aggressive. Cunning.

Over the years, the young Wilson had taken to these traits. She nurtured them. Sharpened them.

Whoever the man was, she had notably decided that she wanted to be just like him.

It had been a decision that she'd had to bear the cost for severely. But sometimes she was actually grateful for it.

Like now.

The little wooden shack was thoroughly blasted to smithereens, that much she knew. The explosion had caused the underground passageway to heave and deposit clumps of dirt onto her head. She didn't complain, not when grains of sand got into her eyes, not when spiders shoved into niches crawled along the walls _this_ close to her arms, not even when a screeching bat flapped into her face then flew away indignantly. It was damn well better than being dead.

She doubted Will had even known about the hidden tunnel under the couch, or he wouldn't have been so careless as to rent her the cabin. That, or he had _expected_ her to crawl through it, use the grenade as a ways of smoking her out while his armed thugs waited for her at the exit.

But Rose's acute senses were picking up the rushing footfall and revving of truck engines above her that thankfully proved that theory wrong. The men were already preparing to exit the premises, having assumed that her sleeping form had been blown to bits.

But Slade had always said that the greatest advantage a mercenary could harness was the element of surprise.

"Think we got 'er?"

"She's gotta be well done by now, boss."

But neither of them took notice to the shadow behind them, a fully-armored, lethally-equipped Ravager, dual katanas in hand. That was, until she sliced down the lackey, grabbed his AK, and slammed the butt of it into the white-bearded leader. Right in his big, fat ace bandage.

"Yeah," said Rose smoothly, adrenaline pumping and glad to be back in her element. "Gotta be."


End file.
